Locating the next shelter proved quicker than anyone had anticipated.
The riverbed vanished into a relatively open expanse of land, from which a deeper gully, likely a man-made drainage ditch, snaked its way into the dense woods.
Beyond the drainage ditch, several structures appeared to dot the open plain, though their exact state remained obscured by the pervasive darkness.
Jing Lan provided the other two with a concise overview of wilderness travel precautions, deliberately avoiding excessive detail and focusing on essentials such as light discipline, advising them to keep their flashlights dim to preserve their night vision.
“Observe your surroundings carefully, and commit potential landmarks to memory, such as that tree with the prominent growth.”
Ling Yechen, his curiosity piqued, stepped closer and illuminated it with his flashlight. “Can trees grow tumors?” he wondered aloud.
“It’s a tree burl. The Japanese used to harvest them for handicrafts. But now is not the time for idle chatter, and you mustn’t wander off into the shadows alone.”
“Ah, my apologies.”
Ling Yechen found himself inexplicably energized in that moment, as if his constant vigilance for their surroundings had, to some extent, overflowed, transforming into a formidable, almost overwhelming, curiosity.
“Should you detect anything unusual, use the code word ‘Attention!’ However, I’m making a temporary addition: you may also use ‘Pan,’ pronounced like the ‘pan’ in ‘panoramic.’ It’s an international aviation distress call, and I find it both resonant and distinct, unlikely to be mistaken for other words.” As Jing Lan spoke, he jotted a note in his phone’s memo app.
“Pan!” Lui Si called out.
“There’s no need to practice it so immediately.”
Lui Si stepped forward, patted Jing Lan’s arm, and gestured towards the distance.
Having covered some ground, their altered perspective on a distant building brought a brightly lit streetlamp at its corner into view.
“The illuminated light suggests the building is still in use. Stay alert, and proceed cautiously. And from now on, unless it’s an extreme emergency, there’s no need to use ‘Pan’.”
The trio reduced their pace, with Jing Lan leading the vanguard, his shotgun at the ready, while the other two tucked their flashlights into their sleeves, progressing slowly and deliberately.
Before long, they discerned an open-sided shed ahead, filled with an assortment of objects. Adjacent to it stood a prefab house, its entrance dimly illuminated by a streetlamp casting a soft, yellow glow.
Jing Lan took a sharp sniff.
“A honeycomb briquette workshop.”
“Surely no one would be here at night?” Ling Yechen ventured.
“That’s not necessarily true. What if the transformations occurred here during daylight hours?”
The three approached the prefab house beside the briquette shed. Its door, though closed, yielded easily with a twist, suggesting it served as a resting spot for a foreman or security guard. Inside, a table held a card reader, two pulp magazines, and an enamel mug emblazoned with the words “Serve the People.”
A pile of bedding lay directly on the floor.
Jing Lan flicked the switch by the door, extinguishing the persistent light.
The door could be secured from the inside.
The click of the lock brought a collective sigh of relief from the group.
“Locate an outlet and get our power banks charging. Then, let’s scavenge for supplies, though I doubt we’ll find anything useful—” Jing Lan instructed, simultaneously rifling through the desk drawers, discovering a substantial stack of banknotes in one.
Jing Lan picked up a wad of cash, then casually tossed it to the floor. In the wake of this biohazard, he mused, he finally had the chance to experience the profound indifference to money.
Aside from the money, their meager findings amounted to a pack of Hongtashan cigarettes and a lighter. Deeming them useless, Jing Lan was about to discard them when Lui Si swiftly snatched them away.
“Ah, if you wanted them, you could have just asked. No need to snatch.”
Lui Si remained silent, retreating to a corner where she lit a cigarette and began to smoke.
Her first drag, however, sent her into a fit of coughing.
“Is this your first time?” Jing Lan inquired. “I’ve never smoked myself, but my father always advised against inhaling the smoke too deeply into your lungs…”
Before he could finish, Lui Si crumpled into a ball and began to weep.
Jing Lan was struck by a peculiar sensation, as if Lui Si’s previous outburst of tears had occurred an eternity ago—an absurd thought, considering he had never met her before yesterday.
Their efforts to procure food proved futile. Jing Lan sank down, feeling drained, and Ling Yechen, having just plugged in his phone, settled beside him.
As the night air grew colder, they pulled the bedding over their legs.
“What should we do, Senior…?”
“Let’s get some sleep first.”
“But we were just with Old Feng and his family…”
“Let’s get some sleep first.” Jing Lan reached out, taking the 17-year-old’s hand beneath the covers. “You’ll adjust. Remember when you first started high school? You struggled to adapt to the intense study schedule, even developing stomach issues. Yet, you persevered, didn’t you? And you even excelled academically.”
Ling Yechen cast a vexed glance sideways. “I despise your analogies.”
“Ah, my apologies.”
“Were you always so indifferent to death? Lui Si certainly bludgeoned someone to death, but you, without a moment’s hesitation, raised your gun and blew Old Feng’s head off… The sheer horror of it was no less. Hmph.”
Jing Lan managed a weary smile, his phone still in hand as he continued to send messages on WeChat, though none received a reply. “I, too, wonder why she acted with such brutality. But as for me—”
It was then that Ling Yechen, withdrawing his gaze, happened to catch a glimpse of Jing Lan’s phone screen.
“Forgive me, there’s no need to elaborate. I believe I’ve pieced it together.”
****
January 14th. The weather was rather bleak. Rain was uncommon here in winter, particularly in the mornings.
Jing Lan awoke at eight o’clock to find Lui Si sitting idly in a corner, doing nothing at all.
“I’m going out to scout. Don’t stray too far from here, and if you need to relieve yourselves, be vigilant about your surroundings.”
Jing Lan took his shotgun and stepped outside.
Beneath the heavily overcast sky, a pervasive sense of gloom hung over the small coal factory. Following the dirt road, he soon reached a tombstone workshop. Several finished stone tablets stood eerily at its entrance. The workshop itself was a simple single-story structure, and finding a wooden ladder beside it, Jing Lan ascended to the roof.
Just then, his phone vibrated. It was a WeChat message from Keke. Perhaps the rooftop offered a better signal, for at that precise moment, the message came through.
Jing Lan suggested a phone call via WeChat, and his cousin readily agreed. He then recounted the events from the previous night until that moment, listening as his cousin’s weary voice emerged from the receiver.
“I see… you’ve been through a lot. Things here were chaotic early on too. Last night, some ‘piss pot’ – a local dialect insult for a worthless person – got hungry. He secretly took the keys, opened the iron gate to the floor below, and went looking for food, claiming he had two pineapple buns in his backpack. Instead, he let in several zombies, then hid himself in a cabinet. The zombies bit three people, and it took us immense effort to throw both the zombies and the infected down the stairs.”
“Out the window?”
“Their heads burst like watermelons—*bang! bang-bang!*—splattering red everywhere.”
Keke paused, then continued, “Once it was all over, I actually debated whether to execute the fool who opened that door without permission. I was absolutely furious.
“But then I considered what you, big brother, would do. You’d surely believe that at a time like this, stabilizing morale is slightly more crucial than simply enforcing rules, wouldn’t you? So, I merely gave him a verbal reprimand and a lecture, then informed everyone else that these were hard lessons learned, and any future transgressions would warrant a discussion of far more severe penalties.”
“Well done,” Jing Lan chuckled softly. “It sounds like you’ve become a leader.”
“There was no other choice. I’m the only one here with any combat training. The zombies are like rabid beasts; ordinary people’s instinctive attempts to fight them off are utterly useless—all they can do is run. In the end, I had to be the one to hold the line.”
“What about that troublemaking kid?” Jing Lan asked.
“He’s curled up in a corner by himself.”
“Try to win him over appropriately. But if he continues to cause trouble, then forget it.”
“You’re truly a cunning old fox—by the way, did you just say Lui Si also killed someone?”
“I did too.”
“Yours doesn’t count. But do pay attention to Lui Si’s situation; she harbors a secret deep within her, one she confided only in me. While we typically share everything, this particular matter is quite sensitive, given your parents… and your father’s rather delicate profession. So, I privately decided not to tell you. Now, however, it hardly matters. It’s simply that I promised Lui Si I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I value keeping my word. You can ask her yourself later.”
His cousin’s reticence left Jing Lan feeling a little uneasy. “And what about your situation? Have you come up with any plans for escape?”
“Alas. Absolutely none. We’re counting entirely on you. Speaking of which, have you formulated any plans?”
“I have many ideas, but we can only test them incrementally. If all else fails… descending from the sky isn’t entirely out of the question.”
“That sounds promising,” Keke said, a note of cheer in her voice.
Their conversation didn’t last much longer. Jing Lan, eager to speak with Lui Si as soon as possible, brought the call to a close.
Upon returning to the prefab house, Jing Lan found Ling Yechen awake. After the group had breakfast, Jing Lan was about to initiate a conversation with Lui Si, hoping to draw her out, when Lui Si spoke first. “Let’s go save Keke,” she declared.
“What made you change your mind?” Jing Lan asked.
“I have something to confess to you,” Lui Si stated. Jing Lan’s heart tightened. It seemed Lui Si could no longer keep her secret.
With what appeared to be a surge of resolve, Lui Si articulated as clearly as she could:
“I’ve killed someone.”
Ling Yechen beside him nodded. “Mmm, there’s no need to mention that anymore.”
Jing Lan’s eye twitched. “Before last night?”
Ling Yechen turned his head in astonishment, looking at Jing Lan. “Senior, what do you mean?”
Lui Si continued, “Yes. I killed someone when I was in high school.”
Ling Yechen’s eyes widened. “So you… were incarcerated?”
Jing Lan took a step closer, crouching down. “So you weren’t discovered?”
“I was definitely discovered, actually.” Lui Si sighed. “At the time, I was obsessed with ACG culture, so my parents sent me to Yuzhang Academy for ‘addiction treatment.’ Are you familiar with that academy?”
Jing Lan and Ling Yechen exchanged astonished glances.
Yuzhang Academy was a so-called medical institution in China, operating under the guise of treating adolescent addiction. However, what parents, troubled by their children’s gaming habits, either didn’t know or chose to ignore, was that the institution employed various inhumane methods to torture children, thereby ‘curing’ them of their internet addiction. The academy’s abuses were exposed years ago, gradually entering public awareness, yet even now, due to a massive gray industry, many such institutions still exist across the country.
Lui Si’s face darkened, her chin buried in her arms. “That half-year of ‘treatment’… please allow me to use an analogy you might find difficult to accept—it was worse than this current struggle for survival. I…”
Lui Si abruptly fell silent, pulling up her sleeve to reveal her arm to the other two.
Her arm was marred by irregular, raised scars.
“These are from oil burns. There were also electroshocks, solitary confinement… Of course, it was highly effective. To this day, I’m no longer obsessed with ACG, only occasionally playing *Arknights*. I even unexpectedly got into a good university.
“But neither my parents nor anyone else knows that I didn’t graduate from Yuzhang Academy upon completing my term. I reached my breaking point, stole a key, and waited for the right moment to escape. But a security guard discovered me. He took me to the guard room, calling Professor Yang—the academy director—to bring me back. If I went back, I knew I’d gain a few more scars. The security guard was cracking walnuts in the guard room at the time, and there was a hammer on the table. So I picked it up…”